


Only Natural

by smellyleaf



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF, usa swimming
Genre: Blood, Breaking and Entering, Danger, M/M, Minor Violence, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smellyleaf/pseuds/smellyleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one story where the house gets broken into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Natural

**Author's Note:**

> **[ THIS WORK WAS IMPORTED FROM SMELLYFIC.LIVEJOURNAL.COM ]**

Technically, it all started with one too many shots of tequila on a Saturday night.

Michael Phelps wasn't even supposed to be in Florida. He told his mother he was visiting a friend in California and he told his manager he was sick in bed with the flu. He told his sister he was taking a break from khaki pants and polos, and he told his other sister to ask his first sister.

He told Ryan Lochte to pick him up from the airport at nine PM, and to not be late.

Seven shots later, to the engaging background sounds of late night ESPN, they'd hooked up on Ryan's leather couch, and cum had dripped down between Ryan's ass cheeks and onto the leather and left a sticky mess that they'd both been way too drunk to clean up.

So it was only natural that they share Ryan's bed, and it was only natural that they also share the covers because Ryan always kept the place fucking freezing.

Then it was Sunday, and they'd slept almost the entire day in a drunken haze. Michael had woken up only once, because he'd drooled way too much on the pillow so that he had to flip it. After that, he was dead to the world.

When he finally does wake up, for real, Ryan is still asleep and it's dark outside again. He takes a shower and then he stands in front of the mirror and scrubs his hands over his face and looks at himself for a long time.

Then he heads to the kitchen in his boxers, because his stomach is touching his backbone. Ryan's fridge is mostly empty, but there's a big ass ham wrapped up in foil and only partially eaten, so Michael sets it on the oven and hunches over it like a vulture, eating it cold and squirting mustard directly on it.

That is the moment that changes everything.

He's standing there, licking mustard off his pinky, when he hears glass breaking.

His first instinct is to roll his eyes and yell, "Go back to bed, Ryan, you're drunk!" He tears off a piece of ham, squirts the mustard on it, and shoves it into his mouth. He smacks loudly, the sound of his own chewing filling his brain.

Then something cold presses against his bare back, and he flinches.

"Hey, man, wha-"

"Shut up." It's not Ryan's voice, and Michael freezes, "Shut up and put your hands over your fucking head, dumbass."

Michael lifts his hands up, and he's in so much shock that he doesn't know what the hell to think.

The cold prods into his spine, "Walk. Get into the living room."

He turns along with the prodding and walks on stiff legs into the living room. He glances towards the front door and sees the gaping hole in the front glass, like a missing tooth. They'd never set the security on last night. No one is coming.

Three guys in ski masks are standing there, and it's just like a movie. The one behind Michael hits him on the head with the cold thing, which is most definitely a gun, and barks, "Get on your knees!"

He falls down onto his knees because his head fucking hurts. Then the guy with the gun rotates around him so that Michael is staring right down the barrel, "Who else is here?"

He swallows, and he sees the leather couch and thinks of the sex they had.

"He's in the bedroom. Asleep."

The guy with the gun nods at one of the others, "Go." Then he nods to the other one, "Tie him up."

The third guy grabs Michael's wrists and pulls them behind his back. He ties them with some thick plastic rope, and Michael stares down at the carpet until he hears the approach of Ryan and the other robber.

Ryan's lip is busted at the corner, and his eyes are so wide. He looks at Michael and his expression says it all. Michael can only stare back.

"Whose house is this?" The leader barks.

"Mine. . ." Ryan mumbles quietly, and all the confidence is gone out of him. He glances at Michael again.

"Alright. Well, get this," He cocks the gun and presses the barrel against Michael's forehead. Michael closes his eyes, scared shitless, and Ryan inhales sharply and stumbles forward in an instant.

"Don't!" Ryan says, reaching, and Michael's chest burns at the sound of his voice.

"Get back!" The guy yells, and he moves the gun to smack Ryan upside the face with it. Michael's eyes snap open in time to see the impact, the way Ryan trips and falls. The corner of his mouth is bleeding.

"Tie him up, too," The leader says, and he presses the gun back to Michael's head, speaking to Ryan now, "Guess what, you get to give me the grand tour or I blow his fucking brains out."

Michael stares at the blood on Ryan's lips. He can't look away.

"Okay. That's fine. I don't have a problem." Ryan holds still while his wrists are tied, and then stands up with a look of resolve.

The guy with the gun barks to the other two, "Watch him," And nods to the fourth, "Come on, you can help." The two of them leave, with Ryan leading the way, and Michael watches with his heart pounding in his chest.

"Is that fucking skeet?" One of the robbers blurts, staring at the couch. Then he turns to stare at Michael, "You fucking fags."

He should be denying it. He should be denying anything at all that has to do with Ryan Lochte.

Instead, he stares the guy down, stares right into the green eyes behind his mask, "Fuck you."

He reaches for his belt, "Bet you give great head."

The other guy rolls his eyes, "Dude, he's gonna bite it off."

Michael grits his teeth and thinks if only he had the chance, he probably would.

The first guy seems to be mulling it over, and then he nods to his buddy, "Don't tell Zeke." He grabs the gap in the rope between Michael's wrists and yanks him up, "Come on."

He leads Michael blindly back through the house and into the computer room, "This'll do." He shoves Michael down onto his knees and starts undoing his belt.

Michael glares up at him and next thing he knows, a knife is pressed against his neck.

"If I feel teeth," The guy mumbles, "I cut."

He hasn't shaved, and his crotch smells like sweat. Michael feels sick just being near it, and he tries to turn away.

"Do it." The blade presses closer.

Michael opens his mouth. Then he turns his head and bites down on the guy's knuckles, hard, until his hand pops open and the knife clatters on the floor.

He shrieks, and Michael rams his body into him and knocks him over. Worming on top of him with no hands, he plants his knee as hard as he can on the guys throat so that he's silenced. Mostly.

"Gruuuugh. . ."

Michael looks down at him and watches as he turns white then blue then reddish purple. When the guy finally stops moving, he lifts his knee and crawls backward, leaning back with his hands sort of flat until he feels the blade of the knife shallowly slice his finger.

He fumbles it several times, eyes on the door, just waiting for the other guy to walk in. But finally he picks it up just right and starts awkwardly sawing at the rope. The going is slow, and he stares at the door the entire time, ready.

And then finally, the rope slices, and his hands come apart suddenly because he's been tensing his wrists. The knife drops to the floor but this time he picks it right back up.

Standing up, he kicks the guy on the floor right in the head, "Fuck you."

Then he returns to reality, and he goes straight for the house phone. He picks it up and starts to dial, but the line doesn't make a sound.

He thinks of his phone, all the way in the bedroom. And he thinks of the blood on Ryan's lips.

"Fucking Florida. Fuck this shit." But he tightens his hold on the knife and he opens the door.

The other guy is just standing there, his back to the hall. And it seems only natural, the way Michael steps forward so silent. The knife glints in the light and then it's all the way in the guy's back and he exhales with a strange, wet sound.

Michael pulls it back and stabs him again and then pulls it back and watches him drop.

"Zeke!" The guy screams, and Michael can only stare in shock at the blood on his back, at the blood on the knife, at the droplets of crimson on his hand.

"Zeke!" He screams again, and Michael hears a commotion upstairs, so he turns and runs.

He dives across the bed and grabs his phone. He brings up the dialer and calls 911, but before he can say anything, he hears footsteps behind him.

"Drop the phone!"

Michael clenches his eyes shut tight, but he does it. He can hear Ryan's nervous breathing.

"I see I made a mistake. Drop the knife and get over here."

Michael drops the knife as well. As he crawls backward, he thinks of the blood on Ryan's lip, of that broken window. He thinks of the way Ryan looked in the blue light of the TV late last night, when he pressed his nose to Michael's nose and Michael was such a coward that he turned away without kissing him.

"You stabbed my associate," Zeke growls, and he aims the gun at Michael's head.

"You busted my boyfriend's lip," Michael growls back, and Ryan's eyes look wide, but he doesn't know what else to call him. Certainly he's more than a best friend, certainly he deserves something better than that, and Michael is stupid for not realizing it before.

Zeke laughs, and then he turns and presses the gun against Ryan's skull, "You wanna see his thoughts?"

Michael stares blankly, trying not to give it away. The blood in the corner of Ryan's mouth has dried now.

"Upstairs," Zeke says, "He begged me not to kill you. You won't beg for him?"

Michael still stays silent, just staring straight at them.

The other robber fidgets, "C'mon Zeke, let's just go."

And then they all hear them at once. Sirens.

Zeke stares straight into Michael, "You." Then he raises the gun and fires.

"No!" Ryan screams and he runs forward as the robbers turn and run off. Michael hits the ground and Ryan kneels, arms still behind his back, "Michael?"

Michael clenches his teeth, but the pain is in his shoulder, not his chest, and he knows he will live. He looks up at Ryan and he thinks about everything, about the last decade of their friendship.

"I'm such an asshole."

Ryan laughs, relieved to hear something from him, "Shut the fuck up."

Michael reaches up with his good arm, pulling Ryan's head down so their noses press together. He can hear the sirens and see the blue and red lights flashing through the windows, ghosting shadows on the wall. But in that moment, he face against Ryan's is only natural. It's the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
